


Rooftops

by Brihna



Series: Brihna's Prompt-fills: 00Q [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pre-Slash, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-04-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:29:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8160562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brihna/pseuds/Brihna
Summary: For the OTP prompt meme:40. “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?





	

It’s been six weeks.

Six weeks since Silva and the Skyfall incident- and Q losing the one person who’d had any faith in his taking on the role of Quartermaster. But he failed and M is gone and every day he waits for the other shoe to drop. For this new M to decide that he isn’t up to scratch.

It’s well after midnight and Q sits alone in his branch, typing away on his keyboard as he makes yet another update to one of MI6’s firewalls. It’s a project he’s been completely obsessed with since Silva and no matter how many layers of security he adds he finds nothing but flaws in his work. It’s never enough.

After an hour of ceaseless typing he sits back in his chair, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses. He debates heading home, but he knows he won’t sleep. So instead he decides to head down to the garage. He can tinker with the Aston Martin for a bit.

As he makes his way through the darkened halls, his lonely footsteps echoing through the empty space, he spots a light up ahead. Drawing closer he begins to hear the familiar ‘pop pop’ of a gun being discharged echoing down the corridor. Frowning, Q turns and makes his way toward the source of the sound.

He enters the shooting range to find Bond standing in a pair of track pants and jacket, squeezing off round after round from his Walther into the target at the opposite end of the room. His jaw is set in concentration and it looks as if he hasn’t shaved in a few days. He doesn’t look up at the Quartermaster’s approach.

“What are you doing here?” Q asks curiously.

To Q’s surprise and- admittedly- moderate satisfaction, the agent starts, turning his head sharply. But if Bond was caught unawares he recovers quickly, side-eyeing his Quartermaster with a smirk. “I could ask you the same question.”

Q gives a shrug, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I had some servers to patch.”

“M-hmm,” says Bond, returning his attention to the target. “And I really needed to work on my aim.” He fires off three rounds in rapid succession- straight into the center of the target. He engages the safety and places the weapon on the rack, striding towards Q with a knowing smirk. “Welcome to the insomniac’s club,” he breathes into his ear. “Follow me.”

Bond slips past him without a second glance, leaving Q staring at his back. Out of curiosity as much as anything else, he follows.

Their path leads them on an ascent through the building until they reach a final set of stairs and a door bearing a sign that reads ROOF ACCESS. Curiosity piqued, Q follows him through the door. He stops near the edge of the rooftop, staring out over the London skyline. Bond disappears for a moment before returning to his side with a bottle of what appears to be some very expensive scotch. He takes the top off and drinks directly from the bottle before handing it off to Q with a shrug. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Q accepts the bottle tentatively, turning it over in his hands. _What the hell,_ he decides and he takes a drink.

The pair sit near the edge of the roof, passing the bottle back and forth as they chat about nothing in particular. As the alcohol begins to take effect, Q finds himself voicing things he hasn’t said to anyone. Except maybe the cats.

“I just feel like my days are numbered. After that cock-up with Silva…” He turns to Bond. “You’re not the only one who thinks I’m too young for this job, you know.”

“That was before I saw what you were capable of,” he answers seriously. “And M believed in you. That’s good enough for me.”

“Except now she’s gone,” says Q, taking another drink from the bottle. “She recruited me, you know.”

Bond shakes his head. “I didn’t.”

He nods. “I didn’t even intern. Hired straight into R&D. Been here barely a month before I started overseeing projects under the previous Q. She called me personally after…” he trails off. “Said I was the only one she’d consider for the job.”

Bond grinned. “She always had a way about seeing the potential in others. Even if they couldn’t see it for themselves. Mallory will see what she saw, if he doesn’t already.” He takes another drink from the bottle. “And since when did you start thinking you weren’t cut out for this anyway? What happened to that cocky little shit I met in the art gallery? Telling me what you could do in your pajamas-”

At the utter seriousness in his expression, Q cracks the first genuine smile he’s worn in weeks; which soon devolves into giggles. “Cocky little shit?”

Bond blinks at him for a moment before breaking into a grin. “Well you are. Or you were.” He shrugs. “Liked you better that way.”

Now that Q’s laughing he finds it difficult to stop. Almost as if all the tension he’s carried for the past several weeks is finally being released. Bond just watches him with a glint in his eye that Q can’t quite place.

“Glad I could get you laughing at my expense,” the older man muses.

Q waves at him dismissively, taking a breath. “Sorry. I just…”

Bond nods, his understanding clear.

They lapse into companionable silence; the bottle being passed continuously between them to the point that Q knows he’s going to have an unbearable hangover in the morning. Yet somehow he finds that he doesn’t care. For the first time since M died, he finally feels like he’s processing it; and everything else that happened that day. He finds that it’s nice to have someone to share that with. He wonders if Bond feels the same way. He thinks to ask him, but instead he finds another burning question leaving his lips.

“Did she really leave you that hideous ceramic bulldog?”

Bond snorts, giving a nod. “It has a place of honor in my flat. Sitting on the coffee table.”

There is the slightest pause before they both suddenly burst out laughing; actually _giggling_ and the absurdity of it makes it that much harder to stop. Somewhere, Q thinks, M is shaking her head at them both.


End file.
